” Chapter XIV “THIS IS MY WIFE” Anna, notwithstanding her momentary fright in the middle of the day, was in high spirits. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. Go on. " "I wish you did have some faults, Ruth. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her. Mike chortled. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate.
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